


Built Like a Racecar

by orphan_account



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: F/M, Shopping, fashionista Striker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Striker gives the fashion advice in the Destroyers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Built Like a Racecar

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for Audrey. Language and sex talk. Here's the dress in question: https://www.missguidedus.com/dresses/little-black-dresses/crepe-long-sleeve-back-detail-bodycon-dress-black-black

Striker rolled his eyes. How long could it take to put on a dress? He knew from experience he could slide one on in five seconds flat.

"Beretta, come on already. You know I love you in anything, and you've got a bitchin' body, so get your tight ass out here," Striker called, turning himself on. He kind of had a fucking hard on. He smiled devilishly. They could probably fuck here and no one would do anything. The employees were all cowering behind the clothes racks, too scared to even look at them, and he had already made them close the store for them.

He leaned back, winking at a young sales girl. She scampered away. He snorted derisively. She didn't have anything to worry about. Not his type.

Then again, maybe that was all the more reason to be scared.

He caught the movement of fabric out of the corner of his eye, turning to really appreciate the work of art that was Beretta. He let out a low whistle, chuckling darkly.

"How 'bout I bend you over?" he asked casually, spreading his legs so she could sit on his knee.

"Striker!" she whined. "You didn't even look!"

Striker was mildly offended. Didn't look? _He_ didn't look? He studied the dress now, taking in everything so as to thoroughly evaluate the potential purchase.

From the front it was a simple enough piece. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. Not natural fibers, but the stretch looked nice. It hugged her curves in all the right places, although her breasts were laughably large. Somehow with open necklines they didn't seem quite so big, but with this high necked, almost conservative minidress, well...

He gave her ass a small pat, "Get up and turn around for me." Beretta smiled, hopping up, and turned slowly, stopping when her back was completely to him. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes dark and heady. She knew how it looked. He reached out to trail his fingers appreciatively down her spine. The caged back was a sight to behold.

"I love it," he announced, snapping his fingers. Beretta turned on her heel, bouncing excitedly.

"Really?! Striker, can I have it?" she hummed, drawing in close. Striker snapped his fingers again. The Hell did a man have to do to get some decent service around here.

"Yeah, of course you can," he whispered, licking her bottom lip slowly. Of course, she didn't have to ask his permission, but that was part of their little play. In the bedroom he was the one moaning the "please"s and "may I"s, but outside of that she liked to watch him act like he was in control. They both got off on it. The harsh clacking of heels drew him away.

"Um, s-sir. Do you need something?" Striker eyed the plain looking woman. He tried not to scoff at the too big, boxy shift dress and cheap pleather kitten heels.

"Listen, darling, I know you're trying hard to be sexy, but next time, maybe a fitted A-line and some stilettos," he said dismissively, not hiding the disgusted curl of his lips. She should know she looked like shit. "Could you bring my friend here another dress? One a little more... Beretta, what do you want?" he asked, crossing his legs.

"A plunging neckline," she answered, sidling up next the woman, who now looked visibly uncomfortable. Beretta slid her manicured fingernail from the woman's collarbone to the barely noticeable seem of her panties.

"Yes, ma'am!" she stuttered, pushing back, red faced.

Striker held a finger up, giving her a long suffering glance. "Um, Miss? Maybe something that looks like you're _trying_."


End file.
